


Nightmares

by krakenlord



Series: Star Wars: Tornado Squad [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krakenlord/pseuds/krakenlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deka has a nightmare. Ricochet is there to help. There are cuddles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

Deka awoke from the nightmare suddenly, heart pounding. His hand went instinctively to the vibroknife under his pillow. The worn grip was familiar and comforting. He relaxed enough to get his bearings. He was in his bunk, on board Fe's dingy cruiser, safely in hyperspace. He could hear the familiar hum of the engine in the background, and Richochet's breathing. Right. He was sharing a room.

The faint light from by the door gently illuminated the room. Ricochet's bunk was parallel to his own, and he was sitting up and looking at him. 

"You uh. You kind of woke me up." The explosives expert ran a hand through his purple mohawk, already messy from sleep. "You alright? Sounded like you were having a doozy of a nightmare."

"It was." The ex-RC put his knife aside, sat up and drew his knees in close. He shuddered, the events of the dream playing again in his head. It seemed like nearly every night he watched his brothers die again. They had suffered at the hands of the Separatists, as had he, and the memories of the torture were painful enough. Being unable to help his brothers, the pain and desperation, their eventual deaths...  
Yes, the memories were bad. But the nightmares...they were infinitely worse.

Ricochet cleared his throat. "...Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Oh. Okay."

A beat of silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity.

"Is there anything I can do to help you?" Ricochet ventured. During the day, the two were constantly arguing with each other. They were too different, Ricochet's hands-off style clashing too harshly with Deka's strict rule-following. But Ricochet knew what it was like to lose close brothers, to lose a squad. To see the commando so deeply affected... well, Ricochet just _had_ to help. He wouldn't be a good brother if he didn't.

Deka was taken aback at the question, glancing at Ricochet as if to ensure he was serious. But as he looked at his rival, he saw that he meant what he said.

"Um. Another blanket? But beyond that I don't think there's anything you can do." He didn't like the cold, didn't like how _alone_ it made him feel. How it reminded him of that awful wasteland of a planet. He shivered, not wanting to admit that. To admit his weakness. He was a commando, he was better than this, so why couldn't he just move on? They were dead, he was alive, and that should have been that. But it _wasn't._ Why was he still dreaming about their deaths? Why did he miss them so much? Why did their absence _hurt?_ Ricochet draped an extra blanket around his shoulders and Deka startled at the unexpected touch, halfway reaching for his knife before registering that Ricochet wasn't a threat.

"Whoa, sorry! Didn't mean to startle you. 'S'it alright if I sit here?" Ricochet gestured to the edge of Deka's bunk, and sat when Deka nodded tenatively. Ricochet noticed the sniper's cheeks were glistening wetly in the dim light, was he _crying?_ He swallowed the urge to ask, and instead sat in what he hoped was a companionable silence. Deka noticed his stare and pulled himself together. He took a few breaths before starting to speak.

"They're _dead."_ Deka's voice was uncharacteristically small. "They're dead and I'm still here." He looked up at Ricochet. "I _survived_ what they did. But my brothers didn't, and they're _gone."_ This was the most distraught Ricochet had ever seen his rival. The whole squad knew he had nightmares, and it wasn't unusual to see his bunk empty in the middle of the night if he didn't want to sleep. But none of them had ever seen him cry before, and Ricochet was sure the surprise showed on his face. 

Deka pulled the blanket closer around his shoulders, and turned to look at Ricochet. His gaze continued past's Ricochet's shoulder, falling on the explosives expert's bare bed.  
"...This is yours."  
"Yeah. 'S the only one I could find." He shrugged. "You needed it."  
Deka grunted a thanks and leaned closer to Ricochet. He'd never admit it, but he _was_ grateful for the company.  
"I don't think I'm going to sleep again tonight. You should go back to bed."

"Nah, I think I'll stay up and keep you company. Is that alright?" Ricochet asked. Instead of a verbal answer, Deka leaned carefully against his shoulder. Ricochet stilled. The sniper barely ever touched someone if he didn't have to, and Ricochet didn't know how to react.  
"You're not usually this cuddly..."

Deka shook his head against Ricochet's shoulder.  
"'S nice." Ricochet was warm and his brother and _alive,_ and actually willing to comfort him, even if they didn't usually get along. Knowing that helped, a little. But his first squad, his batch brothers - they were still gone. He buried his face in Ricochet's shoulder.

"Hey, maybe we should lie down if we want to get our cuddle on?" The purple-haired clone's suggestion was met with Deka flinging the blanket from around just his shoulders to draping it over them before flopping down. Ricochet laid down too, staying carefully near the edge of the bed. Giving Deka space was one of the first things he'd learned to do in his new squad, after Deka gave him a bloody nose for clapping him on the shoulder, and it was hard to shake the habit when Deka was actually offering contact.  
"Can I put my arm around you? Only, my shoulder's falling asleep and--"  
"Yes, you can." 

Deka was grateful for the touch. He didn't like it, usually. Uninvited contact was usually met with an elbow (or a knee, or a knife, or anything, really) to the nearest squishy bits. Touch generally reminded him of his ordeal at the hands of the Separatists. But this was different. Ricochet was here to help, and hadn't touched him without asking for permission since he saw how startled Deka was. It was ...nice. Yes. It was nice to _trust_ Ricochet. Deka let Ricochet wrap his arm around him, and leaned in to use Ricochet as a pillow. The fabric of Ricochet's bodysuit was soft against his cheek, and he let out a content yawn.

Listening to Ricochet's heartbeat, Deka drifted off to sleep, and this time there weren't any dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the promised PROPER Tornado Squad fic! I told you I'd do it eventually.
> 
> Deka's got a rough past, poor guy. He's the last one left of his original squad, and he's been through hell. I hope to expand on him and his brothers in the future!
> 
> Tornado Squad can now be found at tornadosquad.tumblr.com  
> Pop on over and say hi!


End file.
